


A Little Bit Country

by Whreflections



Series: Oklahoma verse [1]
Category: Kane (Band)
Genre: First Meetings, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-24
Updated: 2012-09-24
Packaged: 2017-11-14 23:49:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/520790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whreflections/pseuds/Whreflections
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After having talked to the new guy in his job for about 10 minutes, he invited Chris to a party that night at his house. He agrees to go, but he doesn't know exactly what to expect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Little Bit Country

**Author's Note:**

> So for this one I went with the metaphorical sense of the prompt like the diehard romantic I am. XD I heard Chris say in an interview once that he hadn’t really expected to find anyone like the people he knew at home out in California, but that Steve was that kind of person and he’d been surprised when he met him, and I’ve always loved that, so that was kind of the inspiration for this. 
> 
> Also, since I don’t know exactly when in ’98 they met, for this verse’s sake I’m gonna say it was in July. Other than that, this is really heavily based on the stories the boys have both told about how they met. 
> 
> 90\. Home

Christian pulled his truck up to the curb in front of an old Pontiac and pulled the gas station receipt out of his pocket, checking the address to be sure exactly which house he was goin’ to. There were cars on both sides of the street over a three house stretch, and for a minute he wondered what the hell he was doin’ here. He was all for partyin’, but Oklahoma was still more his style and he wasn’t gonna know  _anybody_  here except the guy he’d met for all of ten minutes that had his old job.   
  
I mean usually, if you’re goin’ to a party where you only know one person, you know them well enough that it’s worth it. This guy he hardly knew at all, but at the time all he’d been able to think was that he  _wanted_  to know him, so when the guy who’d introduced himself as Steve Carlson pulled the crumpled up receipt out of his pocket, scribbled down directions and told him the party was at 8, he’d told him he’d be there. It was 8:30 now, and if he was goin’ in he knew he needed to go ahead and do it.   
  
It was a small house, white with black shutters, and Chris could hear laughter and music playing on the stereo inside. He reached up and rang the doorbell then shoved his hands back in the pockets of his jeans, waiting. It wasn’t long before the door was being pulled open, and he remembered why he came.   
  
“Hey, man, glad you could make it!” They guy had just about the brightest blue eyes he’d ever seen, and there was just something so easy and warm about him, something he couldn’t exactly place but he could see it in his smile now.   
  
“Yeah, hey, sorry I’m a little late.”   
  
Steve waved it off, leading him down the hallway and into a pretty packed living room with sliding glass doors open to the patio and backyard beyond. There was a cooler propped open by the kitchen table just off from the living room and Steve reached into it, pulling out a bottle. “Beer?”   
  
“Yeah, thanks.” See, it was around now that he was gonna start wondering why he came all over again.   
  
“I’m sorry, I know you don’t know anybody here.”   
  
That surprised him, but he smiled, tipped his beer up and took a drink. “Nah, not really. Course, that’s pretty much true for all of L.A. at the moment.” Even bein’ here a few months, there were still days he felt like he’d been picked up and set down sideways in a place he didn’t fully understand. Steve laughed, and he smiled just a little wider, glancing over at him. “You grow up here?”   
  
“Not here, no. California though. Spent the last three years or so in Hawaii.”   
  
Well, that sort of went along with the almost bleach blond hair, though he seemed a little pale for a surfer. “Bet that was nice.”   
  
“Oh, it was awesome. I met some great people there, a few that really helped me improve my steel guitar.”   
  
This, this was one of the other reasons why he’d said yes. The guy knew music, and now that he was out of Oklahoma and the people he’d known since he was a kid, he had  _no one_  to play with, really. No one to jam with anyway, no  _friend_ into the music like he was. Of course, it was still a longshot but the thought of having someone to play with again was beautiful.   
  
“That’s awesome, man. Never really tried to pick up a steel guitar myself, but I can usually hold my own pickin’ around.”   
  
“Yeah, me too. I mean, it’s not great or anything, but it’s what I love. Hey, you know...” Steve caught his eyes, open and earnest. “After everything dies down a little, me and a few of the guys usually go upstairs and play for awhile, you know, just some fun covers and shit. You should play with us!”   
  
Hell, that was an invitation he couldn’t resist. “Yeah, alright, that’d be great.”   
  
‘’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’   
  
It took him about 30 seconds to realize that Steve was either extremely modest or delusional, because what he’d called ‘not great’ was some of the best acoustic guitar he’d ever heard, and the guy was clearly just getting started.   
  
It was well past midnight now and they’d all settled in to a little music room upstairs. Steve had handed him an old Guild, and he’d started in tuning it while keeping an ear out for everyone else. It was around that point that he’d noticed Steve was fucking fantastic, and that his hands moved on the guitar like it was the easiest thing in the world, smooth and fluid. He stopped that train of thought right there, reached over and picked up his current beer to take another drink.   
  
Steve’s messin’ around turned into something more then, notes coalescing into the intro for Take It Easy. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected to come out of Steve’s guitar first, but it sure as hell wasn’t Eagles. He played it just right too, rhythm perfect and even, and he hit every note in the solo that Christian had only ever been able to get just right every third time he’d tried. Nearly everyone sang along, and though he played along with the others at the rhythm guitar, he kept his mouth shut.   
  
From there, it was all Your Cheatin’ Heart and Family Tradition and Please Come To Boston done David Allen Coe style, and if Christian hadn’t known better he’d have sworn he wasn’t in California at all. By the time they got to Tequila Sunrise, he couldn’t help but sing along. That’d been a favorite of his for a long time, and though he picked up the words without really thinking about, it was easy. He was sittin’ pretty much exactly opposite Steve across the circle of chairs, and when it came to ‘take another shot of courage’, their eyes met. Steve was smiling, watching him, and he grinned, kept singing even as he ducked his head a little.   
  
A handful of songs later they ended with a song he didn’t quite know, but that didn’t matter, because every other one he _had_. Everyone that’d brought their own guitars were packin’ up at their own pace, still talking and laughing and drinking and he took the opportunity to do what he’d been dyin’ to for the past few songs. Steve was just wiping down the strings on his Taylor when Chris put a hand on his shoulder, tugging him a little away from the crowd and over toward the window.  
  
“You play  _country_  music?” Wait, that hadn’t sounded quite right. “I mean, how do you…how do you know all these old country songs, I thought…” Well, he wasn’t sure exactly what he’d thought.   
  
Steve shrugged, a smile still hovering on the edges of his mouth. “My parents kinda raised me on country music, so I love it. I’m guessing you didn’t expect to find that out here, huh?”   
  
Chris laughed, relieved that he understood and surprised and pretty damn happy all at the same time. “No, I didn’t.”   
  
“ _You_  didn’t tell me you could sing.”   
  
Christian shrugged, shoved his hands back in his pockets. “A little bit.”   
  
“Yeah? I’d say that was better than ‘a little bit’.”   
  
“That’d be how much you said you played guitar, am I right?” Just then, laughing with him seemed like the easiest thing in the world, and his next words just flowed out. “We should write sometime.” Somehow, it just seemed like the natural progression. Steve could obviously play and he could sing and they both clearly shared at least a substantial amount of the same musical background. This didn’t just sound like it’d work, it sounded  _perfect_.   
  
“Yeah, that’d be great! Here…” He patted around on his jeans but only came up with a pen. Chris found the gas receipt in his pocket, and he carefully tore off the top portion that hadn’t been used for the directions, then tore it in half.   
  
“Here.” He took the pen first, tried to focus on writing the number as clearly as he could without slipping into his natural scrawl his momma’d always said was only barely past chicken scratch. When he got Steve’s he folded it up, pushed it down into the corner of his pocket and tried to force it to stick in his brain that he had to take it out before he threw these pants in the wash.   
  
“So uh, when does your new show film? I’m free pretty much any time Thursday or Sunday.”   
  
Somehow, he didn’t wanna wait till next Sunday. “Thursday’s good. 7? I’ll call you.” That sort of negated the purpose of planning it now, but he just kept talking. “I can come over here or-“  
  
“Yeah, yeah that’s great. 7.”   
  
Great.   
  
On the way out the door, Steve’s hand rested on his shoulder, and he could feel the warmth of it through the cotton and burning against his skin all the way out to the car, even in the cool California night air. Yeah. Also,  _great_.   
  
When he was 16, he’d kind of had this minor crisis. More like, he’d fallen for a guy that ran track and he hadn’t known what the  _fuck_  to do with himself. He was a wrestler and a football player and there was hardly a girl in the school whose head he couldn’t turn, and he’d been  _plenty_  happy with that fact. So he’d thought it was impossible at first, and he hadn’t let himself panic, because in the world he’d grown up in, if he loved women, how the hell could he be gay?   
  
Except it hadn’t gone away, and that was when he’d nearly panicked. The only person in the whole world he’d ever told was his momma, and all she’d said was “Hmm. Well, have you talked to him?”. That was it, and she’d been smart, because after that, in a couple weeks he’d calmed down. They were nothin’ alike and it never went anywhere, but he’d messed around a little in college, nothin’ important. Mostly because 90% of the time, he seriously  _loved_  women. And, because those guys, they’d been nothin’ like him, no one he could ever see himself with even if they’d tried.   
  
But this guy, he was somethin’ else. He was a musician and he was funny and easy and comfortable as hell to talk to, like he’d known him all his life. And then there were the eyes he felt like he could drown in, and that alone had probably made up 30% of why he’d even agreed to come out here tonight, whether he’d realized it all the way at the moment or not.  
  
 _Hell._    
  
He felt around on the seat of the truck in the dark for where he’d left his phone, and he snapped it open, programming in the number that he read in the light of the screen, eyes squinted. They’d get together on Thursday, and he’d be looking forward to it stupidly until then, far more than he should. They’d write, hopefully, and if things went just like he thought it seemed like they could, the two of them were gonna be great friends.   
  
Out here so far, he had no one but David. If he could get another friend like that, he couldn’t ever ask to be any luckier. 


End file.
